


Feral

by TheDiamondSword400



Category: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Collars, Emotional Hurt, Feral Behavior, Feral Rusty (Starlight Express), He's also a badass, Homelessness, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Rusty (Starlight Express), Implied Cannibalism, Implied Child Abandonment, Jerk Original Characters, Muzzles, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Pre-Canon, Rusty (Starlight Express) Whump, Rusty Needs A Hug, Rusty is a savage, Whump, foraging in trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 12:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDiamondSword400/pseuds/TheDiamondSword400
Summary: Rusty is Feral AU backstory.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Feral

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fandom_Trash_Goblin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_Trash_Goblin/gifts).



The little steam engine crept through the dark yard. The sounds of snores or raucous laughter or the occasional brawl echoing out from the looming shadows of the sheds and other buildings.

The little engine rolled silently to a halt and ducked around the corner of a shed. Bright blue eyes locked on the large refuse can and he crouched behind, peaking over the top to eye the door of the building it was pressed against.

Frank the Refrigerator Trunk was large, mean and grease stained. An intimidating figure that stood out in a yard full of intimidating figures. The pot-bellied freight had a strict policy of beating the snot out of anyone who tried to steal from him. Even if it was the food scraps he had thrown away.

The little engine remained still as a statue, listening intently. He could hear Frank clanking around in his shed, cooking up a good meal for the diesels and couches. It was risky. Frank wouldn't give a second thought to ripping his head off and throwing him in a compacter.

Unfortunately, this was the only place guaranteed to have food in its bins.

Slowly, a small hand snaked over the top of the bin, opened the lid and began grabbing whatever was on top. The little engine stuffed whatever his hand could get hold of in between the plating on his chest.

He froze as a thump came from inside the shed then shot to his feet, bolting away from the shed. He put on a burst of speed as the door crashed open behind him.

“Thieving little rat!” A voice roared out behind him.

Something large struck him in the back on his knees, making his legs buckle out from under him. The little steam engine cried out as he was derailed, sent tumbling off the tracks. He whimpered as he rolled to a halt, cursing himself silently for not being fast enough.

His only warning was the sound of rapid footsteps charging at him. The small train was just able to throw his arms over his head, curling his knees up the protect his gut, before the first kick struck.

“Obsolete runt! Useless mongrel!” the large freight car roared as he stomped and struck out at the small engine “Should have been harvested for scrap when you were born!”

The steam engine cried out as the larger train grabbed him by the hair, squirming and legs kicking wildly as he was pulled into the air.

“I'm going to do what should have been done years ago.” Frank declared, the refrigerator trunk's broad pasty face filling the little engine's vision. Fat fingers reached out, seeking the seem of the steam train's jaw. “Maybe there's some useful scarp in that scrawny frame.”

The small train's head reared back away from the hand in panic, pupils blow wide. His head suddenly shot forward, biting down hard on the other train's index finger.

The Refrigerator Trunk howled in pain, dropping the little engine in shock.

The steam train was moving before he hit the ground, thundering curses ringing in his ears as he put as much distance between himself and the refrigerator trunk as quickly as possible. The screaming slowly faded behind him, but the tiny train did not stop until he reached the far side of the yard. He glanced back the way he had came with narrowed eyes, listening intently for sounds of pursuit. But the night had gone silent. He frowned and poked his tongue curiously at the object he suddenly realized was in his mouth. He spit the object into his palm and turned it over curiously.

It was Frank's index finger.

It seemed he had bitten off the old freight's finger up to the first knuckle.

An amused grin of pleasure spread over the steam train's face as he looked at it. Frank would think twice about touching him now.

Feeling satisfied with his prize, the engine continued on. After about a mile he lightly hopped the tracks and ducked through a hole in the fence, entering the scrapyard. The little steamer made his way through the maze of junk and was relived when he reached his den. It was little more then a pile of ratty tarps with an pot that he lit fires in for warmth. It barely counted as shelter but it was the only thing he knew as home.

The small engine pulled out the scarps he had shoved down his front and began sorting them out, edible from inedible. He added the fingertip to the edible pile. Some trains might be revolted and disturbed about how casually he added it to his food. But he had long since abandoned such principles if he had ever had them. This had been if life for as long as he could remember. Surviving by whatever means possible. That meant not turning up his nose if he got his hands on fresh meat, regardless of the source.

He dumped the inedible pile sank down onto his nest, whimpering and wincing in pain. Frank had gotten him good, large new dents covering his legs and arms. He reached under his blankets and grabbed his hoard of tinder, swiping one of the twigs over his arm. Fire sparked into being and he sat for a minute, just staring at the little flame between his fingers. The engine carefully placed it in the pot and settled back as the fire crackled into being, tongues of flames flickering up over the rim of the pot.

The train held out his hands, warming himself. The night was cold but the sky was clear and the air was dry. That was good. He hated it when it was cold and rainy. He had no way to warm himself then and the wet seeped into his joints and seems, spreading the corrosion already covering his frame. The wet also made the cold worse, it got inside him and made it very hard for him to wake up.

It also reminded him of _Before._

He tried so hard to forget Before.

Before was rapid movement, the sound of brothers, hands holding him close. A voice, pretty as birdsong “The stupid runt's slowing us down.” another, deep and strong “Then toss it. Scrawny thing's no good to us anyhow.” followed the feel of being thrown over the fence into the scarp yard he now lived in.

His parents had tossed him aside for being slow and small. For the rust that covered him. He should have died then. He had seen stronger trains die from less. But he didn't die.

He was quick.

He was smart.

The rust made him harder to catch sight of in the lamplight.

It was also his name. Rusty.

It was the only thing he could remember his parents calling him aside from runty or scrawny. Considering all his options he figured Rusty was the best choice.

He curled himself into a little ball on his blankets, grabbing a handful from the pile of edibles and shoving them into his mouth.

He survived.

That was all that mattered.

Stomach full for once, Rusty closed his eyes and fell asleep under the stars.

Rusty snapped awake as hands grabbed hold of him, jerking him up and off of his nest.

He twisted and kicked out wildly, struggling to escape.

“Careful!” A voice exclaimed from behind him and the steam engine felt his heart plummet in terror.

Crank. Which meant it was the adolescent diesel's brothers who were holding his arms. Crank, Shank and Pole were the worst members of the yard despite their young age. They would do anything, hurt anyone just for a laugh.

Rusty had thought his den was hidden, secret.

How had they found him?!

“Hold him tight.” Crank urged, voice moving closer “We don't want the scrap heap getting loose. You saw what he did to Frank.” The green engine moved in to view, perpetually bratty grin spread across his face as he stared down at the steam train, looking amused by his struggles.

“Dad's always told us to be a service to the community. Well, boys, I think we just found our calling.” Crank's grin widened in a flash of sharp teeth and he pulled something out of the pouch hanging from his belt “Pest control. Can't have a rabid dog running around biting innocent freight cars, now can we?”

Rusty stared at the object in Crank's hand in confusion. It was a thick brown leather patch with four thinner bands hanging from the end, a heavy duty buckle attached to the bands.

The steam engine's eyes widened as it dawned on him what he was looking at.

A muzzle.

It was a muzzle.

Oh, Starlight, _no!_

Rusty twisted frantically in their grip, bucking wildly in frantic terror, desperate to escape. The diesel just tightened their grip.

Crank moved slowly with deliberate movements, taking the thin straps of the muzzle in both hands and inching it slowly towards the steam engine's face. The diesel's wide grin filled Rusty's vision. The green engine was clearly enjoying himself immensely.

A broken scream clawed its way up the steam train's throat and he keened in denial, a pleading terrified howl as he wildly shook his head. He pressed his chin against his chest, ducking his head in in effort to escape. But it made no difference. The thick leather was pressed over his mouth and nose, thin strips pulled tight around his ears, invasive hands in his hair and touching his skin as the muzzle was buckled into place.

The three diesels laughed raucously as the steam train sobbed, fat tears spilling from his eyes. He didn't care if anyone thought he was weak. He just wanted it off!

He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the cruel mocking faces looming over him and rubbed his face against his shoulder in a futile attempt to dislodge the muzzle.

His head snapped up as he was dragged backwards across the clearing, feet scrambling for purchase on the loose soil. Crank followed, kicking the pot and sending the embers scattering across the ground, twirling something in his hands.

Rusty didn't dare look at whatever it was too closely, head bowed as he let out muffled sobs. He didn't care anymore. Nothing could be as bad as what they had already done.

Unfortunately, he was oh so wrong about that.

Shank grabbed a fistful of Rusty's messy curls and pulled back on them roughly, baring the smaller engine's throat. The steam train's back arched in pain at this, letting out a muffled moan of protest. His eyes widened as something wrapped around his neck and wrenched tight enough to choke him.

A collar!

_Oh, Starlight!_

They had collared and muzzled him like . . . _like some kind of beast!_

Humiliation and fear screamed through his veins. Panic, brought on from the too tight band around his throat and the muzzle stifling him, howled in his ears and blurred his vision.

The three diesels laughed at the muffled screams and sobs coming from their trashing victim and threw the smaller train to the ground. Shank and Pole kicked the broken engine roughly in the side, muffled sobs morphing into feeble sounding startled then pained grunts. Crank smirked in amusement at the sight and tied the leash that was attached to the collar to some metal scrap.

Crank turned to his brothers “Come on, boys. We've done our good deed for the day.” He knelt down as his sibling backed off and gave the steam engine a mocking pat on the head. “Now don't you go wondering off and ruining all our hard work.”

The three roared with laughter as if this was the funniest thing ever and skated off, slapping each other on the back, quite pleased with what they accomplished.

Rusty forced himself to breath slowly, glaring weakly after the three as he struggled to come down from his panic attack. He pushed himself to his knees on shaky arms and reached up to grab at the buckle securing the muzzle to his face. His fingers clawed at it blindly, unable to release himself by feel alone. A broken sob escaped him, muzzle absorbing the tears as they flowed down his face. He twisted around and grabbed at the pulling at it roughly. He grabbed it with both hand, pulling harder, sobs building.

He threw his whole weight into pulling on the leash and collapsed onto his back with a broken howl.

Rusty stared up at the leash, body limp, energy completely depleted and vision swimming with tears. He was trapped, the way the leash was tied only allowing him to move a few inches in any direction. He was going to starve to death on the hard ground staring at his own bed and the food he had gathered only a few hour before.

With a muffled shout, he roused himself, clawing and tearing at the ground and the pile of junk laying nearby. Trash and dirt was flung about as Rusty raged at the world, shredding everything within reach.

And was jolted from his mental spiral as pain shot through his hand.

He jerked the limb close with a stifled gasp and looked at him palm. Blood dripped from the deep cut slashed horizontally across the soft flesh. Rusty pressed his lips into a tight line beneath the muzzle, a hapless whimper escaping him. This was just what he needed. Injured on top of being tied up like an animal.

Wait.

_Wait._

The steam train reached back into the junkpile, desperate hope making his heart race. Something sharp pricked his fingers and he carefully extracted it.

He studied what he held intently. It was a metal shard, a long triangle that looked disturbingly like it came from a train's outer paneling. His fingers were all cut up just from holding it. Maybe it could cut the leash too.

Hardly daring to hope Rusty grabbed hold of the leash and pulled it taut. He pressed the shard underneath it and paused, taking as deep a breath as he could past the collar, bracing himself. And slashed up.

The leash snapped in two.

If he could Rusty would have crowed in celebration, joyful relief overwhelming him.

With shaky hands the steam engine slipped the shard beneath the straps binding the muzzle to his face, sawing through them.

He sobbed in relief as it fell on his face, not caring about how his check stung from where the shard had nicked him.

Rusty rose unsteadily to his feet, cradling his injured chest, the abuse from the Refrigerator Trunk and the three diesels having done some serious damage. But he couldn't worry about that now. Crank, Shank and Pole wouldn't keep their mouths shut and a vulnerable engine would be too much to resist for some trains. He had too get out of here. Find some place to lick his wounds.

He skated off in the opposite direction the three have gone on trembling legs. Despite the pain he was in and what he had been forced to endure, Rusty felt a glimmer of pride.

He had escaped.

He had survived.

Just like he always did and always would.

Just further proof that no one could do it like a steam train.


End file.
